


the sunflower collection.

by softhar



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (please be careful with the suicide tag it's in the fifth chapter), Baking, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Their relationship through the years, it's just a ton of sappy shit i can promise you that, just don't come for me xoxo, the last two chapters are just basically what i think happened so uh, to quote one of my friends directly: there is a lot of crying in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:08:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23449063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softhar/pseuds/softhar
Summary: As Louis places everything on the table, he looks up at Harry through his lashes and sends him a soft quirk of his lips before turning to help Jay with the pie. He heard the conversation, Harry realises, but while they bicker over how big to cut each slice, he finds he doesn’t really care.He’s just content with being in a place where there’s never lack of love, or laughter, or food, with some of the most important people in his life.If he has to fight to stay with them forever, then damn it, he will fight until there’s nothing left in him.or, harry’s love through the ages, as told through his songs.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 11
Kudos: 132





	1. Volume I: Happily

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone!! this fic is basically just me trying to come up with cute moments between them because the past few months have just been very chaotic and weird, so. for context, each chapter has been assigned one of the eight types of love according to the ancient greeks and a song that i think match and this is what i came up with!
> 
> thank you so much to kenna for helping me come up with this concept and to liv for always being my beta for literally everything, i love you both so much uwu  
>  **please don't repost my work anywhere, thank you!**

**philautia** :  _ a type of love that always starts within oneself before anything else. it is essential for any relationship. we can only love others if we truly love ourselves and we can only care for others if we truly care for ourselves.  _

**2012**

The flat feels empty without Louis’ music blaring through the speakers in the bathroom as he showers, but he had been called away the previous night to do yet another stunt, and so Harry swallows his bitterness and continues to mindlessly scroll through his Instagram feed. He hasn’t even bothered to stand up and open the blinds or turn on the lights, and the room is as dark as it was when he went to bed, except for the bright light coming from his mobile. 

When he drags his thumb down the screen once again, hoping to see something new despite the fact that it’s eight in the morning on a Saturday, he’s not prepared to see the picture that appears at the top of the feed. His eyes take a second to adjust to the brightness as he turns it up to get a better view of it and he feels his heart squeeze a little as he realises  _ oh, this is what Louis was called away for. _

Louis is standing in what appears to be a hotel hallway, his arm around Eleanor’s waist as they point to the red  _ Coca-Cola _ logos on their shirts. They both have grins on their faces, but they look forced — uncomfortable — to anyone that has seen their real smiles. The picture was posted from Louis’ account not even 10 minutes ago, but the likes and comments are already flooding in and Harry thinks he might be sick.

_ Don’t do it, don’t do it,  _ he tells himself as his thumb hovers over the  _ Load comments  _ button, but the need to know takes a hold of him, and he presses it. The page freezes for a second from the amount of comments being sent in, but then it loads and Harry silently curses himself for being a self-destructive idiot as he begins to read them.

As always, it’s a mix of everything — people rooting for Eleanor and Louis, people rooting for Harry and Louis, people just being assholes to the three of them, but the ones Harry focuses on are the ones that mention him in some way or another, despite not being mentioned absolutely anywhere on the post. 

_ Imagine thinking larry is real who would ever go out with someone that looks like Harry when u can literally date someone that looks like Eleanor _

_ People who think Harry and Louis are together are fucking delusional lmao _

_ Have you seen how happy Louis looks with Eleanor how could anyone ever think larry is real _

_ The fact that people think that Louis would go for a womanizer like Harry is so fucking laughable  _

_ #ElounorForever _

_ They are clearly straight everyone needs to get over their sick fantasy _

Tears prick at Harry’s eyes as he continues reading through the cruel comments, his brain storing each and every one into the specific corner of his brain where he keeps every single bad thing he’s read about himself, and even though he tries to bring himself to stop, he knows deep down that a part of him  _ needs _ this; he  _ needs  _ to make sure that he’s not the only one that hates him with their entire being.

After who knows how long, he decides he’s read enough, and he quickly shuts his phone off before shoving it under his pillow. He tries to breathe in an attempt to calm himself down, but his nose is too stuffy, his chest too tight, and the sheets wrapped around his body feel like they’re trapping him into a space so small that he’ll never get out of. Sobs rack through his body like electricity as he sits up on the edge of the bed and behind the anger and the sadness clouding his head, he’s glad no one’s around to see how pathetic he looks at the moment.

His new journal looks blurry through his tears, but it catches his eye as he leans forward to turn the light on, bathing the room in yellow. The brown leather feels smooth under his fingers when he grabs it and he wonders how he hasn’t written anything on it yet, so he takes the black pen tied to the cover and flips the journal to the first page. His mind goes blank as soon as the tip of the pen touches the paper, and all he manages to do is wet it.  _ You’re useless,  _ is what runs through his mind as he stares at the blank page, and a quiet whimper leaves his mouth. God, he truly is useless.

Harry shuts the journal, half tempted to throw it in the trash, when an idea pops into his head, a small light among the stormy clouds covering everything. The words don’t really appear until he’s gone over them at least three times, but they’re there when he finally puts the cap back on the pen, a dark contrast against the brown cover.

_ She doesn’t deserve his heart. Let us love. _

Goosebumps appear across his arms as he steps out of the room and into the cold hallway, and the lack of clanking in the kitchen reminds him of how alone he truly is right now — how alone he will feel in the future if their management keeps trying to keep them apart — and he wonders if it will all be worth it in the end, if they’ll actually make it. 

He stands in the middle of the hallway for a minute, trying to slow his heartbeat down and wiping his tears away, unsure of what to do. It’s not like he can call Louis, obviously. He can’t call any of the other boys —  __ he’s sure that they’re tired of listening to him whine and cry about how management is fucking up his relationship — and he can’t call his family; so what the fuck is he supposed to do? Maybe he’ll wallow in self pity, like he always does, debate whether Louis and him should break up to save each other the pain of having to see them date other people.

Maybe that  _ will _ happen someday, and there will be no going back.

He falls back against the wall, head tipping back as his eyes start welling up with tears once more, and his shoulders shake with every breath he takes. For a moment, he pathetically starts to slide down the wall and he thinks he definitely has hit rock bottom if he’s being  _ this  _ dramatic, but as his knees start to give out under his weight, he accidentally flips the light switch with the back of his head and the hallway is bathed in bright light.

His eyes take a second to adjust to the new lightning, but once they do, they fall on the pictures hung up on the wall across from him. There’s at least fifteen pictures, all placed inside different kinds of frames, a splash of colour against the bland white paint.

Harry looks at them,  _ all _ of them, like he does when he misses his boys or his family, or when he feels like he’s not being grateful enough for the opportunity that life has handed him. He stops on one of his favourite pictures and feels himself smile at the memory of it, so he awkwardly pushes himself off the wall and steps closer from it.

It’s a picture from one of their radio interviews earlier that year, one of the few on that wall that have been taken by paparazzi. They’re outside of the station, standing on one of the balconies, and Louis’ shoulder is pressed against Harry’s chest, a confused smile on his face as he tries to find whatever Harry’s pointing to. It had been a sign one of the fans in the crowd below them was holding up, with colourful, bubbly letters that said  _ LOUIS, I’LL BE YOUR CARROT GIRL IF YOU LET ME _ and in the moment, it had been so funny to Harry that his stomach hurt from how hard he was laughing.

Harry remembers catching Louis mid-conversation with Niall, giggles still coming out of his mouth, and Louis had immediately turned to look, no questions asked. In the end, he hadn’t quite understood what was so funny about it — he actually thought it was really strange — but he’d still laughed along with Harry, blue eyes sparkling happily.

When Harry closes his eyes, he can still feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, his cheeks hurting from how hard he was smiling at the sound of hundreds of people screaming his name, and the jolt that went through him every time Louis’ knuckles brushed against his.

The snapshot of Louis turning to see what was happening, despite already being in a conversation with someone else and being genuinely curious of what Harry had to say, replays over and over in Harry’s head, his heart softening a little bit more each time.

That’s when Harry realises that logically, a stunt shouldn’t bother him this much, because that’s  _ all _ it is — a stunt. She’s not the one Louis comes home to most nights or the one who holds him and whispers sweet nothings into his ear when the comments on Twitter are especially bad; that’s  _ all _ Harry.

Harry gets to see Louis at his best, when he’s openly and unapologetically  _ himself, _ and he gets to see Louis at his worst, when he’s so numb inside that all he can do is sit and stare at the wall for hours on end. That’s something Eleanor will never see, no matter how much or how badly they fight.

So Harry smiles to himself. He wipes his face with his shirt and he straightens his back before stepping back into the bedroom and going straight toward the discarded journal. The pen falls into his lap when he opens it to the first page and the words flow out like water once he starts writing, soon filling up two, three pages.

When he finally finishes, it feels like a weight has been lifted off his chest and he can finally breathe again. It’s not perfect, he realises as he looks over his work. The words are nearly unreadable and there are pen scratches and asterisks signaling to more unreadable words all over the pages, but there’s a name at the top of the first page and a finished song, and Harry’s more than happy with it.

It probably won’t be on this album since it’s so close to being finished, but maybe on the next one, or the one after that. There will probably be a million changes to it — pronouns and melodies and what-not, but the original one will always be for their eyes only.

He puts the journal down and fetches his phone from under the pillow, the screen lighting up after what seems like ages of pressing the power button. His phone is immediately flooded with notifications of people mentioning him under God knows what, and he wonders if they’ll ever come up with the idea to mute people that you don’t follow but he ignores them and instead focuses on the red circle over the WhatsApp icon.

There’s a message from his mum telling him to have a good morning, one from Niall on the band’s group chat asking if they have anything to do today and two from Louis, so he clicks on those first.

_ Lou: Hey, guess what? I’m coming home tonight ! :) _

_ Lou: Wanna have a movie night? Xx _

Harry sends two thumbs-up in response, biting down on his lip to stop himself from grinning like a high school girl, and impulsively sends him a quick shot of the lyrics in front of him.

Maybe  _ Happily _ won’t be the name they stick with, but it’s the one he’ll keep for now.

_ i don’t care what people say when we’re together, you know i wanna be the one to hold you when you sleep. _


	2. Volume II: Something Great

**philia:** _a love that is felt among friends who’ve endured hard times together and is free from the intensity of sexual attraction._

**2013**

It’s almost two in the afternoon and the tour bus is unusually quiet, Harry notices as he climbs out of his bunk and slips his phone into his back pocket. His limbs are still sore from last night’s concert despite being cooped up under his sheets from the moment the bus started moving and he genuinely appreciates the lack of yelling that there is, but there’s a small part of him wondering what it is going to be like when he walks into the lounge.

He stumbles a little when the bus speeds up, but he makes it out of the narrow hallway unscathed and he mentally celebrates the small achievement as his eyes close at the sudden change of lighting. When he opens them again, he feels his stomach drop at the sight in front of him.

His boys are huddled up together in the corner of one of the couches, arms and legs so tangled up together that Harry can’t really distinguish what belongs to who. Their heads are on each others’ shoulders, their eyes glassy and unfocused, almost like they’re imagining they’re somewhere else. The only sound Harry can hear is the bus’ engine running in the background and their quiet sniffles every two seconds, and it breaks his heart. It’s not like he’s never seen them like this, run down and almost falling apart. Hell, they’d seen him fall apart more times than he can count, but right now, as they force themselves to stay awake, they’ve never looked smaller.

He takes a small step forward, unsure of what to do, and Niall looks up at him from the edge of the cuddle pile, his eyes red rimmed behind his glasses.

“Hey,” he croaks, spreading one of his arms out as an invitation for Harry to join them.

The other three also look up at him at the sound of Niall’s voice and Harry could probably start crying right there and then. They all look so exhausted, with dark circles around their eyes their cheekbones sunken, and it’s only the third month of tour. He wishes he could just whisk all of them away and give them a chance for a better life — an _easier_ life.

“Come cry with us, H,” Louis jokes, but it’s weak and the smile on his lips barely reaches his eyes. Zayn turns his face to send him a half-hearted glare, but when he looks back at Harry, his bottom lip starts to wobble slightly.

Harry rushes to fall onto the couch next to Niall, curling up against his side and reaching over to rest his hand against Liam’s stomach. As soon as Niall wraps his arm around his shoulders and Liam laces their fingers together, it feels like there’s been a million pounds placed on his shoulders. His limbs are heavy with exhaustion and he lets all the sleepless nights catch up to him as he tucks his face into Niall’s neck and closes his eyes.

“If I have to write another goddamn song,” Liam starts, his voice breaking a little at the end, “I’m going to lose my mind.”

That earns him a collective groan and Harry smiles to himself, giving Liam’s hand a small squeeze. He understands, though; writing an album is hard enough already without having to perform for almost three hours every night. It’s a wonder none of them have collapsed mid-concert yet.

“Liam, kindly shut the fuck up,” Louis mutters. Harry hears some rustling and then Liam huff out a quiet _ow, stop!_ and Zayn say _Louis, I will strangle you if you don’t stop moving_ and Louis goes still. 

“So, is that why we’re crying?” Harry pulls away from Niall’s neck to look at his boys, relief washing over his system when he sees none of them look that upset anymore.

“We’re just so tired,” Niall sighs. “I don’t know how they’re expecting us to do a movie, a world tour _and_ write a whole new album in the span of six months.”

“They’re planning to kill us before any of us hit twenty-five,” Liam says, bitterness finding its way into his words.

“Good. I’m fuckin’ exhausted,” Louis says, his tone just as bitter as Liam’s. “What do they think we are? Robots?”  
“No, that’s them, I think,” Harry pipes in, sending Louis a soft smile that is returned a second later.

Zayn shakes his head. “Nah, that’d be thinking too highly of them.”

The five of them huff out what could be considered a chuckle before falling silent again, allowing themselves to cherish the time they get to spend together as friends. Not as a band, not as celebrities, just as friends who stay up too late and sleep too much during the day. As they shift around to get comfortable, Harry realises they haven’t had a moment to themselves in _years._ Not like this, anyway; someone is always around — whether it be Paul or Lou or someone else — but they’re never truly on their own.

Here, they don’t have to keep up their appearances, they don’t have to act a certain way or think about anything else but the Spanish landscape whizzing past their windows and the comfortable warmth radiating off their bodies. In all the years they’ve been together, he doesn’t think there have been many moments where he’s felt as safe as he does right now.

“Just one more show, yeah?” he tells them softly when he notices the way their eyes keep fluttering as they try to stay awake.

“One more show and then we go home for a week,” Liam says sleepily, his head resting on top of Zayn’s. “We can do this.”

“We can do this,” the four of them echo, if only to engrain the message into their brains.

The bus falls silent again as they doze off one by one, burrowing closer to each other, like they’re afraid they’re going to disappear when they wake up. 

Harry repeats Liam’s words in his mind, over and over like a mantra until he feels his thoughts going fuzzy around the edges. Lisbon, a week off, then Mexico City.

They’ll get through it. 

_one day i’'ll come into your world and get it right, i'll say we're better off together here tonight._


	3. Volume III: Adore You

**_storge:_ ** _ the love parents naturally feel for their children. it’s based on natural feelings and effortless love. storge is the love that knows forgiveness, acceptance and sacrifice. it is the one that makes you feel secure, comfortable and safe. _

**2014**

“No one knows how he’s still alive,” Louis says, a mischievous glint appearing in his eyes as Anne and Jay giggle into their wine glasses and Harry kicks his shin for what could be either the twentieth or the one hundreth time. 

Jay’s house is warm, like it always has been, and she’s glowing in a way that Harry hasn’t seen in the years that he’s known her, but her smile is infectious and her new wedding band glints every time she moves her hand and Harry truly couldn’t be happier for her. He hopes she never stops smiling.

There’s still food left on his plate and he feels like he might explode if he takes another bite, but the smell of a freshly-baked apple pie is wafting into the dining room from the kitchen and his stomach growls quietly every time he breathes.

“How ‘bout we stop talking shit about Harry when he’s sitting  _ right here?” _ he grumbles and childishly crossing his arms over his chest, a whiny  _ heey _ leaving his mouth when the table erupts into laughter once again.

“Aw, I’m sorry, honey,” his mum says teasingly, pushing his hair back with her fingers like he’s sixteen all over again.

“It’s not your fault you’re so clumsy,” Louis snickers. Harry kicks him again, smirking smugly at the grunt he gives.

Louis kicks him back and suddenly they’re playing footsie under the table, the plates and glasses in front of them clattering loudly with every kick they give. A curse slips out of their mouth if one of them kicks especially hard and Harry can feel their mums’ disapproving eyes on them, but all he’s focused on is Louis’ smirk and the way his nose keeps scrunching up every time Harry gets the chance to hit his ankle with the heel of his boot, which means Harry’s winning.

“Fuck you and your fucking long legs,” Louis huffs as he slides down on his chair to reach Harry’s. He kicks at the air for a few seconds, a confused frown appearing on his face when he doesn’t seem to come in contact with anything, and lets out a loud yelp when Harry lands an especially hard blow to his shin. “You son of a —”

“Dessert! Does anyone want dessert?” Jay pipes in loudly before Louis can finish his sentence and she’s looking at his son the same way Harry’s mum would look at him when he threw a tantrum at the grocery store. “Coffee? Tea?”

“Tea for me,” Harry’s mum says her through her giggles.

“Me too,” he echoes. He pushes his chair back to stand up, his plate in his hands, but the look Jay gives him makes him slowly sit back down. “C’mon, I just want to—”

“Not in my house, Harry. You’re a guest,” shes says sternly before turning to Louis, who’s pointedly staring at his beer, and flicking his ear. “Not you, though. Help me take these to the sink.”

Reluctantly, Louis gets up with a stack of dirty plates and cutlery carefully balanced in his hands and he sends Harry a teasing wink over his shoulder as he follows his mum into the kitchen.

“Cheeky bastard.” Harry rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile on his face and a good amount of alcohol running through his veins and he feels like he’s about to burst with love. For Louis, for his mum, for Jay, for alcohol— 

“Love?” his mum pulls him out of his thoughts and he realises he’s been staring at the kitchen door.

“Hm?”

“You’re absolutely gone for Lou, did ya know that?” When he looks at her, he’s met with a pair of gentle green eyes that keep flicking over his face and a smile spreads across her face. 

“Yeah, mum.” He ducks his head as he feels his cheeks flush, “I know. We’ve been together for a while; I thought you would’ve realised it by now.”

“Oh, don’t be sassy.” She swats at his shoulder and Harry giggles, innocently shrugging his shoulders. “You know what I mean — ever since you met him, you’ve looked at him like he hung up the stars.”

_ “Mum.” _ He glances towards the kitchen, where all he can hear are plates clattering against each other and the kettle whistling on the stove. He wonders if Jay and Louis are having a similar conversation. When he looks back at his mum, she doesn’t look impressed.

“What I’m  _ trying _ to tell you,” she takes his hand, gaze softening, “is that I’m so proud of you two. The way you continue to fight for your love despite all the obstacles that life has thrown at you… it’s so  _ admirable,  _ Haz. It continues to amaze me that you’re both so young but you already know it’s worth fighting for each other, no matter the consequences it could have on your career. And every good thing that comes your way, it will be well deserved, because you’re so  _ brave _ and—”

“Mum,” Harry whispers, his voice cracking slightly, and he gives her hand a small squeeze. He misses her, he realises; he misses waking up to her moving about in the kitchen early in the morning and having their weekly family movie night and being able to hug her whenever he wants. He wonders if their relationship would’ve been different if he’d never auditioned. “Thank you.”

She leans close to him and presses a kiss to his temple. “Remember, H; love is only for the brave.”

Suddenly, the kitchen door swings open and Louis comes out holding the steaming kettle with one hand and four cups with the other one, followed by Jay carefully carrying the pie and a pint of vanilla ice cream stuck under her arm. Harry and his mum share one last glance before settling back into their seats.

As Louis places everything on the table, he looks up at Harry through his lashes and sends him a soft quirk of his lips before turning to help Jay with the pie. He heard the conversation, Harry realises, but while they bicker over how big to cut each slice, he finds he doesn’t really care.

He’s just content with being in a place where there’s never lack of love, or laughter, or food, with some of the most important people in his life. 

If he has to fight to stay with them forever, then damn it, he will fight until there’s nothing left in him.

_ oh, honey. i’d walk through fire for you, just let me adore you. _


	4. Volume IV: Olivia

**ludus:** _a playful or uncommitted love. the feeling couples have when they go through the early stages of falling in love with each other; fluttering heart, flirting, teasing, and the feeling of euphoria._

**2015**

Despite spending at least ten minutes the night before trying to convince himself that he’d wake up early and be productive, Harry finds himself pressing play on the next episode of _The Great British Bake Off_. He throws one of the many blankets they have folded on the couch over his body and flips onto his side as Mel and Sue introduce Cake Week on the TV. In his defence, he probably wouldn’t be lying here if there weren’t a thunderstorm happening outside, but alas. Here he is, doing nothing.

He could really just turn the show off, stand up and do his yoga routine, but his body is too tired to do anything except sleep and move from the bed to the couch. Tour ended two weeks ago and he should be well-rested by now, but if he’s being honest, 2015 was the worst fucking shit show he’s ever seen. Not that he’s not grateful, because he _is,_ but between Zayn leaving and the four of them having to finish the tour without their best friend, it was… so fucking hard. Plus, the release of the new album, the break announcement — it’s all too much for him to handle at the moment. So, taking advantage of the free time he has before the album promo starts is all he can do.

He’s startled out of his thoughts by the sound of someone flopping down by his feet, and he whips his head towards the sound. His muscles relax when he notices it’s just Louis, who is watching the show intently, small droplets of water falling from the tips of his hair. Harry smiles sleepily at him and nudges his thigh with his socked feet until he tears his eyes from the show.

“Hey,” Harry says quietly, meeting Louis’ eyes as soon as he turns to face him. They look brighter today and they’ve got their spark back and Harry’s just so glad he’s managed to get out of bed. “How’re you feeling, babe?”

Louis shrugs as he pulls Harry’s feet onto his lap. “‘M still tired, but… better.” 

Harry nods in understanding and flicks his eyes over his face one last time, just to make sure he’s telling the truth, before turning back to the show and letting the contestants’ voices fill the room. They’re both quiet after that, both enjoying the comfortable silence that surrounds them too much to break it. Moments like this where they don’t have to worry about anything except themselves are rare and as soon as the album comes out, there probably won’t be any, so making it last as long as possible is in their short list of priorities right now.

“I bet I could make that,” Louis mumbles, watching as one the contestants heats up her chocolate in the saucepan and explains how she’s going to use it as a mirror glaze for her carrot cake. 

Harry snorts before he can stop himself, biting down on his lip to stop his giggles from slipping out of his mouth. “Lou, you’re a terrible baker. No offence, but you’d burn the house down.”

“Excuse me,” Louis huffs, feigning offence. “I would make a fuckin’ great cake, Styles. I bet I would even win this whole thing.”

Harry ponders for a second and weighs his options in his head; he could lay here all day, wallowing about how shitty the year has been and trying to convince himself to do the damn yoga _or_ he could bake the best cake ever made and rub it in every time Louis decides to be a little shit.

It’s not a hard decision. 

“Winner cleans up!” he throws the blanket at Louis’ face and sprints towards the kitchen before Louis can register what’s happening.

From the kitchen, he hears him mumble to himself before yelling something along the lines of _oi! That’s not fucking fair!_ and running through the door, a frown set between his eyebrows.

“What’s wrong, sweetcheeks?” Harry teases as he plugs in their mixer, enjoying the way Louis’ lip twitch in annoyance. “I thought you said you’d make ‘a fuckin’ great cake’.”

“You f—” Louis starts, but his eyes flick to the fridge at the same time as Harry’s, and they both rush towards it at full force, crashing against each other when they reach for the door at the same time. “Move out of the _way,_ I got here first!”

“You don’t even know what you’re looking for, Louis!”

“And? All cakes have egg and milk, that’s all I need.”

“That’s not true; some cakes actually — ow!”

“Yes!” Louis exclaims as he tugs the carton of milk out of Harry’s limp hands. He smiles innocently when Harry glares at him, still rubbing at the spot on his leg where he’d been kicked. “Sorry, baby cakes, I’m not cleaning on my week off.” 

Harry curiously watches his boyfriend take out a bowl and whatever he needs for his disaster cake, smugness radiating off his body, and wonders if he knows that he’ll never win without the mixer. _Probably not._ He decides to focus on grabbing the ingredients for his lava cake, something he could probably make with his eyes closed by now, before putting his hair back in a quick bun on the nape of his neck and taking out the ceramic measuring cups his sister got him for his birthday.

The first ten minutes go by smoothly — for him at least. He’s done mixing all his ingredients together by the time the oven dings to let him know it’s done preheating, something Louis _also_ forgot to do, and Harry allows a triumphant grin to stretch over his face as he butters his ramekins.

Louis, on the other hand, has been staring down at his phone with a confused look on his face, every so often murmuring words that just seem to deepen his frown. The carton of milk in front of him remains unopened and he glances between it and his phone like he’s considering if burning the house down is really worth it.

“Need any help there, baby?” Harry teases.

Louis looks up at him, takes in the ramekins filled with chocolate batter and his flour-stained shirt, and lets his phone fall next to the milk with a huff. “Oh, fuck off, Harry. You knew you were going to win.”

“Well, yes, obviously. But I also knew you weren’t going to say no ‘cause you’re a competitive fuck” he hums, sliding the ramekins into the oven. He notices the childish pout on Louis’ face when he comes back up and he steps forward, his arms open wide. “Aw, is the poor baby mad that he’s shit at baking?”

“Fuck _off,_ H,” Louis grumbles, but lets Harry engulf him in a warm hug and pull him close. They stand like that for a few minutes, arms tightly wrapped around each other as the smell of warm chocolate begins to engulf them. His voice is quiet when he speaks again, all competitiveness gone from it. “What do you think will happen after we — after the band breaks up?”

 _It’s a break. We’re taking a break,_ Harry wants to tell him, but deep down he knows that it’s not true, that eighteen months will never be enough time for them to recover. “I don’t know, Lou,” he says instead. “But we don’t have to worry about that right now. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Louis mocks him as he pulls away from their embrace. He bites down on his lip and glances up at Harry through his lashes with a look he’s seen too many times since they’ve been home. “Do I really have to clean up?” 

Harry huffs out a laugh, basically immune to his antics after five years, and playfully pushes his face away. “No way, Tomlinson. You’re not getting off this easily.”

“You’re a pain my ass, Harry Styles.”

“I love you, too, Lou. The rags are under the sink.”

_i've been idolizing the light in your eyes, olivia. i live for you, i long for you, olivia._


	5. Volume V: Sweet Creature

**_agape:_ ** _ an unconditional love. the purest form of love that is free from desires and expectations, and loves regardless of the flaws and shortcomings of others. it puts the beloved first and sacrifices pride, self interest and possessions for the sake of their partner. it is a love of supreme greatness. _

**2017**

_ Dear Louis, _

_ If you’re reading this letter, it means I didn’t get to live forever. Not that any of us will, but it just means my time came a little earlier. _

_ I don’t really know how to start this — there’s only so much I can say on paper and if I tried to say everything I want to say, I would end up filling an entire notebook. Maybe more. Just… let me try to get everything out and not take years. I don’t think I have that much time. _

_ First, I want to say thank you. Thank you for helping me become the person I am today; without you, I’d still be that scared 17-year-old crying over mean Twitter comments. You’ve taught me how to be strong, how to be kinder, how to become a better person. God, Lou, you are  _ _ so _ _ strong and even with everything that you’ve gone through, you always come out with a smile on your face. You don’t know how much I admire that — when you are so clearly hurting inside but you’re always willing to make someone feel better, no matter what. I am in awe of what a wonderful person you are, always have been. There’s just  _ _ something _ _ about you that never fails to make me (or anyone else, for that matter) smile. _

_ Please never change. _

_ I used to wonder what I did to deserve you, what good deed I could’ve done to make someone say “this man deserves an angel in his life”. At night, I liked to just look at you and admire you. I now realise how creepy that sounds and I am so sorry. (I like to think you’re chuckling, or at least smiling. Please smile. I don’t think you’re going to be doing that for some time). But, you’re just… so wonderful. I don’t think you’ve realised that yet — how wonderful you truly are. You’ve saved so many people, you’ve saved  _ _ me _ _ more times than I can count, and I think that you’re going to have to accept it someday, Lou, because it’s true. _

_ I love you so fucking much. Every single fight we ever had, every tattoo we got, every single moment we spent together for five years, it just makes me realise how much I’ve loved you since I was sixteen. I used to think we’d be together for a long time, I think everyone did, but we only got five years. Maybe we weren’t meant to be.  _

_ What I’m trying to say is: be  _ **_happy_ ** _ , Louis. It’s been two years and maybe you don’t care about me anymore, but I still care about you. _

_ There are billions of people in the world, I know you’re going to meet someone who will make you as happy as you made me (maybe you already have. I wouldn’t know). Have kids, Lou. Don’t settle for what management tells you to do.  _ _ Fight _ _ for the truth. You deserve it. Have the family you’ve always wanted and know that I’m always,  _ **_always_ ** _ going to be watching over you. _

_ Finally, I’m so sorry, Louis. I’m sorry for walking out on you. I’m sorry for letting management get in the way of our relationship. I’m sorry for saying I hated you. I’m sorry.  _

_ I love you so much, my darling. Never forget that. I’ll see you in another lifetime. _

_ Always yours, _

_ Harry E. Styles. _

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

**2018**

Moving is so much harder than Harry remembers. The last time he did, the apartment had already been completely furnished, so all he’d had to bring were his clothes, a bunch of pictures in colourful frames and his creaky kitchen table. Gemma had to pick up that last one.

It’s not like he had time to take much when he ran out.

He shakes his head as the thought starts to creep into his mind and instead focuses on not breaking any of the glasses he’s pulling out of the box in front of him. He can hear Louis rummaging around in the next room, a loud curse bouncing against the apartment’s bare walls whenever he drops something, and Harry smiles to himself at the thought of getting to live with someone else for the first time in two years. Well, not with  _ someone else _ , no. With  _ Louis. _

It’s not until Harry’s grabbing a pair of matching mugs that he hears Louis hiss  _ fuck you  _ under his breath after something heavy hits the floor that he almost drops the mugs, his hands starting to shake.

_ “Fuck you, Harry,” Louis said, his eyes turning colder than Harry had ever seen them. _

_ “No, Louis,” Harry chuckled cruelly, his heart breaking a little bit more with every piece of clothing he shoved into the duffel bag. “Fuck  _ you.”

Luckily, he tightens his grip around the handles of the mugs before they can slip out of his grip and he shoves them into the cabinet a bit harder than he intended, the cabinet door remaining open as he leans back against the counter to catch his breath. It’s been some months since he’s actually thought about this, too busy enjoying the fact that his boy is back in his life, that despite the awkward stumbles they have sometimes, they’re okay again.

The bedroom door slams shut with the strong gust of wind that blows into the apartment and Harry jumps at the sound, his grip on the edge of the counter tightening until his knuckles start turning white.

_ “What are these?” Harry slammed open the door to their bedroom, his phone gripped tightly in his hand. He had stared at the picture on the screen for almost an hour on the car ride back home, and read the article so many times that he could recite it without looking at it if anyone asked. _

_ The sound of the door hitting the wall made Louis look up from his book with a start and furrow his eyebrows in confusion. For a second, Harry felt the tiniest amount of guilt for walking in so abruptly — Louis was already in bed, his glasses perched on the tip of his nose and the bottom corner of the page he was reading was already bent and ready to keep his place for whenever he got to the last line — but the short buzz that Harry’s phone gave reminded him  _ why  _ he had done it. _

_ “What are you talking about, H?” Louis asked softly, too used to Harry finding his shit all over the house, but his face slowly fell with understanding when Harry scoffed and shoved the unlocked phone into his hands. Forgotten, the book fell from his lap as he scrambled to stand up. “No, Harry, listen. I was going to tell you—” _

_ “You were going to  _ tell me?”  _ Despite the way it trembled, his voice just kept getting louder with every word that came out of his mouth. “You were going to  _ tell me  _ that you’re having a fucking baby?” _

The sound of someone walking into the kitchen is what pulls him out of his thoughts and he looks up with tears in his eyes just as Louis stops in front of him, his face red with anger.

“Lou? What’s wrong?” 

“What is this?” he uncurls his clenched fist, revealing a crumpled piece of paper, and Harry’s stomach drops.

He instantly recognises his handwriting and the way it’s so illegible in some parts, the tear stains on the paper, and he reaches for it. A part of him secretly hopes that it’s not what he thinks it is, but when Louis snatches the letter back, Harry knows he’s wrong. 

“You — you weren’t supposed to find it. I thought I threw it out. You weren’t supposed to find it,” Harry rambles, anxiety slowly making its way up to his throat like water rising in the ocean. 

Louis throws his hands up in the air. His voice is laced with rage, but his chin starts to quiver slightly when he brings Harry’s letter up to his face. “‘You weren’t supposed to  _ find it?’  _ What the fuck does that mean? I wasn’t supposed to find out that you wanted to fucking  _ die? _ ‘If you’re reading his letter, it means I didn’t get to live forever’? What the  _ fuck,  _ Harry?”

Harry winces, not only at his own words being repeated back to him, but at the harshness in Louis’ voice, at the hurt flashing in his eyes. It makes him wonder if  _ this _ is what he looked like when he stormed into their old room and fucked everything up.

“No, Lou, listen. I—” the words get caught in his throat and he tries to get them out, but the knot in his throat is too big, too _ much _ for him to do anything properly. Louis is staring at him expectantly, his lip caught between his teeth, and this is too much.  _ Too fucking much.  _ “I don’t — you weren’t—”

_ “Harry, listen to me,” Louis said, dropping the phone on the bed so he could reach for Harry’s hands, but Harry shook him off, his skin burning where it had been touched. “Obviously, it’s not going to be  _ my  _ baby, but—” _

_ “Oh, so that makes it better, does it?” Harry rolled his eyes before stepping around Louis and towards the closet. “Do you think it  _ matters  _ if you didn’t actually get her pregnant? Because it doesn’t, Louis. What the media and everyone fucking else is going to think is that you fucked her and that the baby is yours.” _

_ “You know I can’t fucking control what decisions management makes. You  _ know _ this.” Louis followed after him and Harry briefly wondered how he was so  _ fucking calm. _ “Harry, baby, please. What are you doing?” _

_ Harry shrugged his hands off his arm, tugging his duffel bag down from the highest shelf. It wasn’t big enough for all of his things, but it would have to do for now. He tried to walk back to the bed, but Louis wrapped his hand around his bicep, still trying to make Harry listen to whatever excuse he could come up with.  _

_ “Don’t touch me,” he hissed, tugging his arm out of Louis’ grip hard enough to make Louis stumble back in surprise. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m  _ leaving.”

_ “Baby, no. You can’t—” Louis’ voice broke, taking a small piece of Harry’s heart with it. “We’re going to be alright, we always are. Darling, please—”  _

_ Something in Harry snapped and he whirled around, blood rushing to his face as the edges of his vision turned red. He saw fear in Louis’ eyes, but he ignored it and walked closer until he was towering over him. “What? What do you want me to say? That I don’t care? That I’ll stay with you even though you’re going to be raising a baby — a baby that’s not even  _ yours,  _ first of all — with the first American blonde your team found because they’re homophobic pieces of shit? That I’ll stay quiet and watch you build a family even though that’s all we’ve been fighting for for the past  _ five years?”  _ he took a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling to blink his tears away, then looked back at Louis, who looked like he’d been holding his breath while Harry was yelling, and lowered his voice to a whisper. “I’m… I’m tired, Louis. I’m tired of being told who to date, who to be friends with, who to  _ breathe _ near to. And I’m sure you are, too.”  _

_ ‘Harry…” Louis trailed off, tentatively reaching for his hand again, and interlocked their fingers once he realised Harry wasn’t pulling away. “You know I am, love. All I want is to hold your hand and know that our careers won’t be fucked over, but…”  _

_ Harry stepped back, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. “That’s the damn problem! You care too much about our careers! Why can’t you see that I’d be willing to throw it all away to be with you?” _

_ “You don’t mean that. Your career is everything to you; so is mine. We can’t just throw away everything we’ve worked for!” _

_ “We’d be fine!” Harry exclaimed. The frustration he’d been bottling up since the beginning was making its way to the surface, like a thunderstorm forming in the distance. He just couldn’t understand why Louis was so stubborn about this; they would be  _ fine. _ “We have enough money between the two of us to be fine for a while, and—” _

_ “Listen to yourself!” Louis finally exploded, his voice filling up the room. It felt like a breath of fresh air. “You’re talking about giving up our  _ entire lives;  _ our jobs, our friendships, everything.  _ You  _ would be fine, Harry, not me. Everyone fucking adores you and who am I? The one who has the worst voice and the one who no one likes. That’s  _ all _ I’ll ever be. Unless… unless I do this. I hate it as much as you do, H, but—” _

_ “You’re a coward,” Harry spit out. The regret he felt came instantly after the words left his mouth and Louis stepped back, like he’d been slapped. They’d crossed a line and they both knew there was no coming back if they kept going like this. “You always have been. A  _ weak, fucking coward.”

_ “Fuck you, Harry,” Louis said after a beat, his eyes turning colder than Harry had ever seen them. _

_ Despite knowing that he’d been the one to let it go this far, Louis’ tone stabbed at his heart and he forgot how to breathe for a moment. Then he remembered  _ why  _ this had all started in the first place and his anger returned, blocking out every single thought of regret he was having. He scoffed and made his way back into the closet, purposely shouldering Louis when he walked past him. Taking his clothes off the hangers made him pause, because this was starting to feel too real now, but he took one look at Louis and the way he was glaring at him and ripped off as many clothes as he could.  _

_ “No, Louis,” he chuckled cruelly, his heart breaking a little bit more with every piece of clothing he shoved into the bag. “Fuck  _ you.”

_ He finished packing in silence, too aware of Louis’ angry eyes on him the entire time. Every time his breath hitched, like he was going to say something, Harry braced himself for whatever vicious insult Louis would throw his way, but nothing came. Instead, he simply leaned against the wall and silently watched Harry leave the room and come back with some frames in his arms and shove them into the bag. _

_ “So what are you going to do?” he asked when Harry slung the strap over his shoulder. His eyes were still flashing with anger, but he couldn’t keep the exhaustion out of his voice. “It’s almost eleven o’clock — you have nowhere to go.” _

_ “Hotels exist,” Harry shot back, making sure he had his phone and his wallet with him. He’d come back for the rest later, _

_ “Harry, you don’t have to do this. We can talk about it in the morning, just—” _

_ “I don’t want to be anywhere near you.” He stopped, one foot already out the door, and turned his head to face the man he loved, the man he was  _ leaving,  _ and finally let his tears break through the barriers and trail down his cheeks. “I don’t want to be your second choice, Louis. I’m sick of it. And you’re choosing a  _ lie _ over us, over  _ me,  _ and I hate you for that.” _

_ Without saying another word, he left. For the first time in years, he walked out into the street with no one by his side. For the first time, he was truly alone. _

“Harry— hey, it’s okay.” A hand is placed tentatively on his shoulder and he jumps at the touch. The world around him is blurry through his tears and he’s trying so hard not to sob that his chest aches with every ragged breath he takes, but Louis — his Louis — is standing in front of him, his face contorted with worry. “You’re okay, love. You’re okay.”

“You weren’t—” Harry hiccups, reaching up to dry his tears with his sleeve. “I wasn’t going to  _ do  _ anything.”

Louis stops him by wrapping an arm around his waist and leading him to the group of chairs abandoned in a corner. “C’mon, you’re not sayin’ anything until you stop crying, okay?”

Once they’re settled down, it’s like a door has been opened in Harry’s body and all the walls he’s built to keep his emotions at bay come crashing down all at once in the form of sobs that rip through his body. His chest feels like it’s on fire every time he gasps for air and his face keeps heating up with every new wave of tears that falls from his eyes. Louis is holding him so tight it’s like his life depends on it, whispering soft reassurances into his ear, and all Harry can do is clutch Louis’ shirt with his hands and cry.

It’s been some time since he has cried like this; years, he thinks. It’s raw and ugly, like an open wound, and at any moment, his heart might collapse. It doesn’t. Instead, it keeps beating in his chest, pumping blood and oxygen and life — a constant reminder that he’s  _ here, _ that he’s  _ alive,  _ that the letter in Louis’ hand is nothing but that. A letter.

It takes him a while to calm down. He doesn’t know how much time passes, but eventually, his eyes dry out and his sobs turn into small, shuddering breaths that take the remaining fragments of his pain into the atmosphere with them.

“Feeling better?” Louis’ voice is rough and when Harry pulls his face away from his shoulder, he realises he hadn’t been the only one crying. There’s a single tear trailing down the bridge of Louis’ nose, so Harry shakily reaches up to wipe it away with his thumb as gently as he can. 

“I’m sorry,” is what he says first, his voice sounding foreign even to himself; he sounds small,  _ weak. _ He hates it.

Louis tightens his grip around him. “You don’t have to be sorry for anything, Harry. I just…. I just want to understand.”

Harry hesitates for a second, fear threatening to take over his body once again. Talking about this would be exposing his feelings, opening his chest to show how vulnerable he truly is, and the idea makes him want to run and hide — hide until the world forgets who he is. But then he looks up and he’s met with the same pair of ocean blue eyes that he’s always looked for in a crowded place, that have told him  _ I love you _ with just one look a million times, that cried when Harry said  _ I hate you,  _ and they’re so full of love and worry that Harry’s heart soars, and he realises that Louis will stay by his side, no matter what he says about the letter. 

So Harry breathes in deeply and begins talking.

“When we — when  _ I _ left, it was like there was a part of me missing. And I know how cheesy that sounds, but everything I did, I did alone. It felt like there was  _ something _ missing, and so I went to Jamaica. I wrote an album. I went on two tours. I was in a movie. I tried so many things, but I still felt so fucking  _ alone  _ and—” his voice breaks and he stops to swallow the knot that’s forming in his throat. Louis is still silent, still looking at Harry like he’ll break at any second, and he laces their fingers together, giving Harry’s hand a reassuring squeeze.  _ It’s okay, _ it says,  _ I’m here. _

“And I got to a point where…” Harry continues, “where I was holding in  _ everything  _ — what I really wanted to say, what I  _ wanted _ to feel. So I wrote that letter because it — it was the only way I could find to let everything out without hurting myself. Or my mum. Or you. And I didn’t throw it away in case I actually did something. But you weren’t supposed to find it. Because I didn’t  _ do _ anything.”

“Were you?” Louis asks quietly. He clears his throat when his voice wavers, but his bottom lip starts to tremble when he continues. “Going to do something?”

“No!” Harry exclaims, a little too loud. “I wasn’t… no.”

The room falls silent as they stare at each other, unblinking eyes saying everything they can’t make themselves say out loud. Harry can see the distrust written all over Louis’ pale face and he mentally prepares for the argument that’s sure to come, but instead, a choked sob escapes Louis’ mouth, tears falling down his cheeks before either of them can react.

“Oh, Lou.” It’s Harry’s turn to hold him and he wraps his arms around Louis’ torso, pulling him onto his lap a bit clumsily, but they immediately shift around so both of them can be comfortable. Harry’s neck and the collar of his shirt are getting soaked, but he can’t bring himself to care as he soothingly runs his fingers through Louis’ hair and tightens his grip around him. “I’m  _ so  _ sorry.”

“No,” Louis says stubbornly against Harry’s neck. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Harry.  _ I’m  _ the one who should be saying sorry for overreacting like that, I had no right.”

“Lou, you did—”

He pulls back from Harry’s embrace to look up at him, face still wet with tears. “No, I didn’t. It fucking kills me that you had to go through that alone and there’s no fucking way in  _ hell _ I’m letting you feel like that again. Not as long as we’re together, yeah? I am always here for you, even if you stub your toe and you want to cry about it, I’m only a text away.” That earns a wet chuckle from Harry and Louis smiles in relief. “We’ve made it this far, love, even after everything we’ve been through. We’ll be alright.” 

“We’ll be alright,” Harry echoes. His lips quirk up into a smile as he leans forward to press a kiss on Louis’ forehead. “I love you, Lou.”

“I love you, too, Haz. So much.”

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

That night, after making sure Louis has fallen asleep, Harry takes out his journal from the nightstand drawer. The leather is covered in his handwriting and the yellowing pages are heavy with ink; some are full with words that the world will never get to hear, others with lyrics and ideas that he’s performed more times than he can count, and he flips through them with nostalgia running through his veins, but he doesn’t stop to reminisce. 

The song written on the last few pages has been finished for almost a year now, but Harry has never been satisfied with it, no matter how many melodies and instruments he’s added over the months. Now, writing  _ we’ll be alright  _ at the end of the song feels like taking a breath of fresh air after being inside for too long.

Beside him, Louis shuffles in his sleep and turns away from the light that Harry’s shining on the journal. Harry stares at him for a second before putting everything away and scooting forward until he can press his chest against Louis’ back and hold him tightly.

It’ll take them time to fall into their old habits, but for now, they’re home again and that’s all Harry’s focusing on right now. They made it. They’ll be alright.

_ sweet creature, when i run out of road, you bring me home. _


	6. Volume VI: Sunflower Vol. 6

_**pragma:** a love that has aged, matured and developed over time. it is beyond the physical, it has transcended the casual, and it is a unique harmony that has formed over time. it is the love between people who've learned to make compromises, have demonstrated patience and tolerance to make the relationship work._

**2020**

The bacon sizzles loudly on the pan as Harry flips it with the spatula and he winces when a drop of oil lands on his arm, but he simply wipes it off with a napkin and continues making breakfast.

Soft music fills the kitchen from his phone on the counter, the notes delicately bouncing against the parts of the room that are covered in golden sunshine, and he sways from side to side along to the words of Cherry Wine. There’s an untouched cup of coffee sitting on the countertop, waiting to be drunk along with the tea right across from it, and Harry watches the steam rise from the matching cups for a moment before turning back to the pancake mix he still has to finish making. 

Soft footsteps come from the staircase just as he puts the finishing touches on the tall stack of pancakes in front of him and he turns towards the entryway after making sure that one strawberry won’t fall off again and his silly heart misses a beat at the sight, even after all these years.

Louis’ walking into the kitchen, a fond smile playing on his lips as his eyes flicker over the ensemble Harry has placed on their dining table. The circles under his eyes aren’t as dark as they had been the night before, but Harry’s bitterly reminded of how hard he’s working as Louis steps into the sun.

“What’s all this?” he asks, his voice still laced with sleep, and Harry worries for a second that he was too loud, but the glance Louis sends his way is enough to make him relax back against the counter. 

“It’s just— you know,” he waves his hand at the food and ignores the quiet snort that leaves Louis’ mouth. “It’s — I made breakfast. For you.”

The corners of Louis’ lips twitch. “For me?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Harry grumbles as he shoves the cup of tea into Louis’ hands. He picks up his own cup with one hand and the plate of pancakes with the other and carefully carries them to the table, a small sense of pride going through him when he notices he didn’t spill anything. “You’ve just been working so hard lately and… I don’t know. I thought I’d do something nice for you.”

“Thank you, H.” Louis’ voice is as soft as the look in his eyes and he leans up to press a kiss on Harry’s scruffy cheek before sitting down on the creaky chair that’s been his for almost ten years now. 

As Harry sits down across from him, his playlist switches to _Lover_ and part of him wants to jump up and press skip, but Louis quietly starts humming along to the melody while taking two pancakes for himself, so Harry smiles and leans back against his seat.

They eat in silence, both too used to having breakfast on their own, but they share small smiles every so often over the rims of their cups and that’s more than enough for the two of them.

Harry takes a few bites from the food on his plate before his eyes flick back to Louis’ face, silently taking in the crinkles by his eyes and the barely-there wrinkles over his brow. If he thinks about it — which he always does, because it’s a constant reminder that lurks in the back of his mind — he’s reminded of a similar scene that they went through, just the two of them, except there was no sunshine or smiles that day, only empty eyes and cold thunderstorms.

They had been sitting like they are right now — Louis’ back to the living room, Harry sitting on the other side of the table — and Gemma and Lottie were sitting next to each of them, ready to jump in in case the situation got too ugly. Neither of them had wanted to be there, Harry knew that, but facing Louis after two years was something he wouldn’t do without his sister by his side. It seemed Louis wasn’t too keen on doing it alone, either.

It hadn’t been pretty.

They’d started out quietly, their emotionless voices cutting deep wounds with every word they said, and suddenly they were both on their feet, yelling at the top of their lungs before they could realise what was happening. A glass was smashed against the wall, at some point. The only thing that stood between them was the kitchen table they had bought together all those years ago.

They’d gone two years without each other — Harry could sure as _hell_ keep going without Louis. He wasn’t sixteen anymore. 

Eventually, their sisters left together, seemingly having decided that the situation would get better if they left. It did it improve, somehow, once Harry and Louis had realised they were on their own, standing in the middle of Harry’s apartment with angry tears streaming down their faces. 

Harry remembers not being able to breathe, his chest too tight for his lungs to work properly, and his hands trembling by his sides as he looked into Louis’ eyes, clear as ever with the tears swimming in them. It was too quiet for a couple of minutes while they tried to catch their breath, throats raw and shoulders shaking with every inhale they took. He remembers ending back at the kitchen table and Louis being the first one to apologise, words spilling out of his mouth before he could stop himself, and the only thing Harry could do was sit back and accept the apologies he’d been waiting for for two years.

“Everything alright, love?” Louis’ tentative voice is what brings him back to the present, his eyebrows furrowed as he flicks his worried eyes over Harry’s face. He knows what Harry’s thinking about, always has, but the fact that he still cares enough to ask makes Harry smile. 

“‘M okay. Just zoned out for a second,” Harry assures him before quickly changing the subject. “How’s everything going with the album release? How’re you feeling?”

Louis glares at him and lands a small kick to his ankle, but Harry simply sends him a cheeky wink, and the malice behind it is gone. “It’s… it’s amazing so far. Like, I’m buzzin’, but at the same time I’m nervous as fuck, d’you know what I mean? There’s still a week left, but I feel like I’m going to shit my pants.”

Harry knows the feeling — he’s gone through it twice already — but he also knows that Louis has been working _so fucking hard_ to release the album and that it’s completely different from doing it with four other people by your side.

“I know, Lou. But, think about it this way: once it’s out, all you have to worry about is getting through the interviews, sleeping as much as you can and drinking a shit ton of coffee.” 

“Yeah, who cares about the sales?” Louis grumbles while nervously fiddling with the golden band on his finger, but his shoulders have relaxed ever so slightly and there’s a ghost of a smile on his face.

Harry stares at him for a minute, his arms crossed and an amused smile playing on his lips, before suddenly pushing himself up onto his feet, the food on his plate forgotten altogether.

“Will you dance with me?” he holds out his hand, the single silver ring on his hand glinting under the sunlight, and smiles cheekily at the man in front of him. 

Louis slowly blinks up at him, like he’s still trying to process the sudden change, and sighs loudly while taking Harry’s hand and using it to pull himself up. _“Why_ do I put up with this, again?”

“Because you love me,” Harry replies cheerfully and interlocks their fingers once they’re standing in the middle of the kitchen. “A lot, actually.” 

“Do I, though?” Louis muses quietly, earning a quiet whine from Harry as he places his hand on Louis’ waist.

“Well, you came back, didn’t you?” his smile softens, as does Louis’, as they begin to slowly sway from side to side. The music switches to a gentle version of _Can’t Take My Eyes Off You_ and the bubble surrounding them gets warmer when their eyes meet.

“I always come back. You know this.”

“I know.”

They quiet down, simply enjoying each other’s company and dancing around their kitchen with soft looks in their eyes. When they spin, a ray of sun hits Louis’ face and for a moment, Harry’s breath hitches at how truly beautiful he is; how lucky he was to fall in love with him.

“You know this all happened because of you, right?” Louis is the first one to break the silence, his grip tightening slightly on Harry’s shoulder. “The album, tour. It’s all because of _you,_ Harry.”

Harry’s quick to change his head “Lou, that was all you. I had nothing to do with it.”

“No, no. Let me speak.” They stop dancing and their hands stay on each other for one more second before Louis steps back, his lips pursed. Harry stares at him, anxiously waiting for him to continue. “You’ve always been there for me, ever since we met. No matter what happened, you’d _always_ be the shoulder I’d cry on. It took me four years to finish this album, Harry, and those two years I spent without you were the worst two years of my life. Because I didn’t have you when my mum died. You went to the X-Factor performance, but you left. You didn’t come home with me.”

He takes a deep breath. “I’m not saying it’s your fault, because it _isn’t._ I was the asshole and I deserved it. But I need you to understand that without you, there wouldn’t have been an album, or a tour. Or any interviews. I do this all because of and _for_ you — always you.”

Harry tries to find the words to reply to that, his mouth opening and closing as his heart pounds against his ribcage, and he tries to blink away the tears welling up. A wet chuckle leaves his mouth and he shakes his head in disbelief. “God, I love you so much, you _ass.”_

He takes Louis’ left hand in his and interlocks his fingers together, the matching rings on their fingers shining under the sun. He looks at his own, admires the way the silver looks so perfect next to Louis’ gold and gets the sudden urge to kiss his fiance. 

So he does.

“I love you. I love you so goddamn much,” he says against Louis’ lips and his mouth curls into a grin at the sound of Louis’ laughter.

“I love you, too, H. With everything I am.” He’s caught by surprise, that’s clear, but he places his hand on Harry’s cheek and kisses him back. And that’s all that matters.

_i couldn’t want you anymore, kiss in the kitchen like it’s a dancefloor._

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading i hope you enjoyed it! if you have any questions im @wastelandharry on tumblr and @sunflowrvolumes on twitter!


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